


We Have Ways

by sabinelagrande



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Consent Play, Domme Bobbi Morse, F/F, Femdom, Femslash February, Interrogation play, Rough Sex, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Sub Jemma Simmons, pussy slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Morse will get the answers she requires, and Jemma will definitely give them to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Have Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is a consent play story. While all the action depicted is consensual and everybody has a good time, it may be triggering to some readers. Be warned in time.

Jemma blinks as the bag is pulled off of her head; the light isn't very bright in the room where she's been taken, but it's enough to be a shock. The room isn't big or well-furnished, just three concrete walls and a white one, a metal table and two chairs, a stand in the corner that might hold a tablet or a book.

Jemma breathes a sigh of relief. Everything is as it should be. She didn't expect any less, but having a black bag put over your head and being left alone in an empty room is never a comforting experience. 

Then again, Jemma doesn't want to be comforted. In fact, what she's asked for is the exact opposite.

The room's only other occupant walks around in front of her; she's a tall, blonde woman, dressed in all black. Jemma can't help but notice that she's extremely attractive, but she has an unpleasant quality to her as well, seems to radiate a kind of power that makes Jemma very uncomfortable.

"I'm Commander Morse," the woman says. She pulls out one of the chairs. "Please, have a seat." Jemma doesn't respond, just looks warily at her and stays well away. "And you are?" Morse prompts, looking at Jemma expectantly. "You're not going to tell me your name? If I don't hear the one I'm looking for, it's entirely possible I'll let you go."

"Jemma Simmons," Jemma says quickly, sitting down. "Doctor Jemma Simmons. I'm sure you'll find that this is all an error."

Morse looks down at the tablet she's carrying; Jemma knows very well it's the cell control pad, which she only tested a hundred thousand times once they decided to do this. "No, this is definitely you," Morse says. "Got your whole dossier right here."

"What do you want from me?" Jemma asks. "I haven't done anything."

"I just have a few questions," Morse says. "Very simple. Only take a minute of your time."

"What do you want to know?" Jemma says cautiously.

"We want to know where the safe is, Jemma," Morse says. "Just give us the location and the combination. Tell me and this ends now. I'll let you walk out of here completely unharmed."

"And what if I don't tell you?" Jemma asks.

Morse smiles. "Then you don't walk out of here completely unharmed."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jemma says, although she certainly does, both in and out of her role. "I don't know anything about any safes. You have the wrong person."

"No, I really don't," Morse says.

"I don't know anything," Jemma insists. She draws herself up, trying to look defiant. "And if I did, I'm not in the habit of sharing information with people who threaten me."

"So you're not going to tell me?" Morse asks.

"No, I am not," Jemma says firmly.

Morse pulls out the other chair, setting the tablet down on the table and sitting. She looks at Jemma silently for a long moment; Jemma tries not to squirm under her scrutiny, but it's not easy. Morse has a way of looking at her that is deeply unsettling, and Jemma likes it far more than she should.

"You don't actually think that," Morse says.

"Excuse me?" Jemma says. 

"You know you're going to crack," Morse says, leaning forward. "You're completely confident that you're going to. You're trying to stop me from realizing that fact."

"You're quite wrong," Jemma says. Her heart is starting to beat faster; if she means to intimidate and frighten Jemma into confessing, Morse is very good at her job.

"You know your only hope is to make me stop short, because if I hit the right spot, you'll fall completely apart," Morse says.

She's entirely right; Jemma feels as if Morse could pick her like a lock, rearrange things until Jemma just broke open. It makes her feel hot and exposed, ashamed of herself, in awe of this woman who has so much power over her. It's far more shameful that it's turning her on, but if she's very lucky, Morse won't find that part out.

Morse smiles, obviously enjoying watching Jemma tear herself up, and Jemma knows she has no hope of hiding anything at all. "I don't know who you've gone up against before," Morse says, "but they're nothing compared to me."

"They'll come looking," Jemma says, desperate to distract her. "People will notice I'm gone."

"No one knows where you are," Morse says. "You're not going to be rescued. You might as well make your peace with that now." She sits back. "Now, are you ready to tell me where the safe is?"

"I don't know," Jemma says adamantly. She has no intention of giving up without a fight; that would be so boring, and the one thing she doesn't want is to be bored. "I have no idea."

"You're lying," Morse says. "You're a terrible liar. Wouldn't you rather just be a good girl and tell me the truth?"

"I am telling you the truth," Jemma says, even though there's something about the prospect of being a good girl for Morse that's deeply attractive.

"Is that your final answer?" Morse asks.

"It most certainly is," Jemma says. "If you would please let me go?"

Morse laughs unpleasantly. "You're going to be fun," she says, standing up.

"What are you going to do to me?" Jemma asks, keeping her eyes on Morse as Morse walks around behind her.

Morse puts her hands on the back of Jemma's chair, leaning down to speak into her ear. "Everything it takes," she says, and Jemma shivers.

"You wouldn't really hurt me," Jemma says; she believes that, but right now it's easy to forget, easy to let herself be frightened. "It's just a safe. It's not worth it. What would that make you, if you tortured an innocent just to find out something that stupid?"

Jemma flinches away when Morse tousles her hair. "You are just so cute," she says. "Let me show you something." She picks up her tablet and walks towards the cell's one white wall. "You see this barrier? It has some interesting features." She taps, and the barrier disappears; at least, that's what Jemma thinks happens, but when Morse walks over and touches it, the area around her hand lights up.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that that's a one-way mirror," Jemma says nervously.

"Yep," Morse says. She gives Jemma a hard, cold look. "If you cross me, not only will I hurt you, I'll let anybody who comes down here watch everything that happens to you. I can also turn the soundproofing on and off, in case you want them to hear you scream."

Jemma swallows. "I understand."

"I hope you do," Morse says. She taps the tablet again, and the barrier turns opaque; Jemma tries to hide how grateful she is for that. "Please know that I have absolutely no problem with doing anything necessary to make you talk. I will get the information I want if I have to beat it out of you, or worse." Morse smiles in a way that sends a chill up Jemma's spine. "Trust me. You don't want to see worse."

Morse sets the tablet on the stand in the corner of the room and walks away, not looking at Jemma. Jemma knows this is her cue; when she wants the game to _really_ start, she'll try to grab the tablet and let herself out.

Jemma bolts for it.

For a moment, Jemma isn't sure if Bobbi will catch her in time; they've agreed that Jemma will not actually touch the tablet, because the two of them scuffling over it could have disastrous results. She's just wondering whether she should trip when Morse grabs her from behind, holding Jemma tight.

"Let me go," Jemma says, struggling against her.

"Not likely," Morse says. She wraps her hand around Jemma's throat, and Jemma stops fighting, trying to keep Morse from choking her. "I tried the easy way. Now you get the hard way."

"No," Jemma pants, as Morse drags her back towards the table.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this," Morse says, pushing Jemma face first over the table. "You just had to make it hard on yourself."

She's too slow to stop Morse from shackling her ankles to the table; she tries to kick, but Morse isn't having it, only yanks her into place, her hand almost painfully tight around Jemma's ankle. Jemma's skirt isn't short, but it's not long enough to keep her from looking obscene, her legs spread wide, her ass fully on display. She tries to straighten up, but Morse forces her down onto the table again.

"This is your last chance," Morse says. "Tell me what I want to know, and it doesn't go down this way."

"Go to hell," Jemma says, a little surprised at her courage- or maybe it's the safety underneath it all, the knowledge that Bobbi will still protect her, no matter how scary she seems right now. "I'll never tell you now."

"Okay," Morse says, sounding unconcerned. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The first smack lands hard on her ass, hard enough that it makes Jemma cry out. Morse follows it with two more, and on the third she leaves her hand there, her fingernails digging into Jemma's ass.

"I really don't think this is going to work out," Morse says, squeezing harder, making Jemma hiss.

"Then let me go," Jemma says, though that's not at all what she wants.

"Well, that wouldn't help me at all, would it?" Morse says. "I know what you need."

"No!" Jemma gasps, as Morse flips up her skirt, draping it over her back.

"Yes," Morse says, tugging down Jemma's panties. She's completely exposed now, her pussy spread out, right there for anybody to see. Morse runs a hand over her ass, making an appreciative sound. "Very nice."

"Please stop," Jemma begs, but it's cut off by the cry she makes when Morse smacks her again. On her bare flesh, it stings, a bright pain that doesn't go away, seems to spread across her skin, burning her up. Jemma might be able to withstand it if it just stung, but Morse apparently isn't satisfied with that. Her blows are devastatingly hard, the jolt of it moving through Jemma's whole body. She have bruises from this, big ones that she'll feel all day tomorrow; it's hard to pretend to hate this when she thinks about that.

Morse stops, running her hand over Jemma's reddened ass for a moment. Jemma thinks she's earned a reprieve, but then Morse's hand lands hard on her cunt; Jemma thrashes, just to feel Morse slam her down again, holding her still while she slaps Jemma over and over. It hurts to a ridiculous degree, and Jemma can't get enough of it. Bobbi's sometimes hesitant, worried about whether Jemma really enjoys it, but Morse isn't letting up, hitting her until she's throbbing, aching with how much she wants to come.

Morse finally takes her hand away. "Would you look at that," she says, and Jemma realizes with a jolt of pleasant shame that her hand must be covered with Jemma's wetness. Jemma's so turned on she feels like she must be dripping, and it only gets worse when Morse slides her hand between Jemma's thighs again. She runs her fingers over Jemma's pussy; Jemma feels like she might come instantly if Morse so much as brushes her clit- so naturally, Morse avoids it entirely.

"Oh god, don't," Jemma says, even though she wants Bobbi's fingers so badly she could scream.

"My question is," Morse says, still toying with her, her touch infuriatingly light, "if you hate this so much, why are you so wet?"

"Please stop," Jemma says, but she can't keep herself from groaning when Morse suddenly pushes three fingers into her. She's so wet that there's barely any resistance; it's so good, just what Jemma wants, and it's difficult to keep herself from pressing back, trying to get as much as she can.

"You know exactly what to do if you want me to stop," Morse says, moving her fingers in and out more quickly, stretching Jemma open. "Since you haven't, I can only assume you want me to keep going."

"No, please," Jemma says when Morse takes her fingers out; she doesn't really know what she's objecting to, the loss of Morse's fingers or what's coming next, but it doesn't seem to matter. She hears the sound of a zipper, and then Morse wraps her hands around Jemma's hips, stepping in close.

"You brought this on yourself," Morse says, running the head of her strap-on over Jemma's folds. "You should have been cooperative. But I'm going to get what I want, even if I have to fuck it out of you."

Morse pushes into her all at once, not stopping until she's buried all the way inside of Jemma's cunt, and Jemma screams, unable to hold it back. It's a miracle that she doesn't just come immediately, because it's exactly what she's been craving, to be filled up, taken hard.

Morse certainly gives her what she wants, fucking her fast and deep. There's nothing kind or gentle about it; Morse just pounds her, slamming in, rough thrusts that make her want to melt into the table, let Morse do anything she wants.

"Give me what I want," Morse growls. "I'm not stopping until you do."

"Never," Jemma swears, though it's hard to talk, instead of just moaning incoherently.

"I can fuck you like this all day," Morse tells her. "I can leave you here for as long as I want, just come back and take you whenever I feel like it."

"Oh god," Jemma says, swept up for a moment in that thought. "Oh god, please-"

"What was that?" Morse says, and goddamn her, she stops. Jemma is maddeningly close to coming, and she can't help the way her hips buck back, trying to get more of Morse's cock inside of her. Morse pulls out, and Jemma wants to sob in frustration. "I think you're enjoying this too much. I don't think it's working as a very good motivator at all."

Jemma resolutely bites her lip, not responding. It's on the tip of her tongue to end this, just demand Bobbi just get back there and finish what she started. She narrowly manages not to, but only because it will be so much better if she waits.

"Here's how this is going to go," Morse says, pulling one of the chairs over and sitting down across the table from Jemma. "I'm a very generous person."

"I severely doubt that," Jemma says.

"I'm going to offer you a trade," Morse says, undeterred. "I need two pieces of information from you." She wraps her hand around the strap-on she's still wearing; another woman would look ridiculous, but Jemma wants her so much she could die. "Give me one, and I'll fuck you. Give me both, and I'll let you come."

"What if I don't give you either?" Jemma says defiantly.

"It's adorable how you still think you can resist me," Morse says, smiling in a way that seems almost fond. "If I don't hear something from you in the next three minutes, I'm going to let down the barrier, and I'm going to sit right here and watch while people line up to fuck you." Jemma sucks in a breath; that's a closely-guarded fantasy, one she's never told anyone but Bobbi about, and right now the possibility seems chillingly real, so tantalizing and so unthinkable all at once. Morse sits back, showily stroking her cock. "Clock's ticking."

Jemma hesitates for a moment, just for the look of it. "529 Westmoreland Street," she says, picking at random; now that it's come to it, Jemma remembers neither the address nor the combination that they agreed upon. She severely doubts that it matters. "Vault 3."

"It's a start," Morse says, standing up; Jemma watches her as she walks back around the table, hoping desperately that she'll get on with it. Morse doesn't disappoint, doesn't waste an instant before stepping up behind her and pushing in hard, fast enough that it makes Jemma gasp. This time, she doesn't try to hide how good it feels when Morse fucks her. She can't get enough, just wants Morse to fuck her and fuck her until she falls apart, is left with nothing.

It's so hard not to come, and Morse obviously knows she's struggling. "You know, we can crack a safe," she tells Jemma, a little breathless but still calm. "I can stop right now and not lose a thing. You really picked the wrong way to go."

"Please don't stop," Jemma begs. "Please, give me more-"

"You really can't make up your mind, can you?" Morse says, slapping her ass. "First you want me to stop, now you're begging me to fuck you. Maybe I've entertained you for long enough."

"Five-nine-nine-six-one," Jemma says, the first string of numbers that comes to her mind. "The combination. That's it."

"Very good girl," Morse says approvingly, running her fingers through Jemma's hair. "Now what do you want?"

"Please make me come," Jemma says, almost a sob.

"I don't think you really need much help," Morse says. "But I did promise."

Morse's fingers tighten in her hair, and she pulls sharply enough that Jemma's eyes water. It feels astounding, the pain, the knowledge that she can just let go, not hide it anymore, let Morse take her over completely. Morse fucks her so hard that the table scrapes across the floor, so hard that Jemma can't process anything else, just that, just Morse on her and inside her, using her, _ruining_ her.

"Come," Morse orders. For a moment Jemma can't even respond, doesn't know how to, and Bobbi slips her free hand underneath them, stroking Jemma's clit. "C'mon, baby, come for me."

Jemma's orgasm hits her hard; she lets out a choked gasp, her body shaking underneath Bobbi's. It seems to hit her again and again, rushing through her, tension and release, repeated until there's nothing left in her, nothing she can do but collapse against the table, completely exhausted.

"Bobbi," Jemma says hoarsely; the game is over, and Bobbi is what she needs most right now.

It hurts when Bobbi pulls out, and Jemma can't stop herself from wincing. "Shh, I've got you," Bobbi says, stroking her back. "Hold on to the table, okay? I'm going to let you go."

Bobbi doesn't stop touching her, keeping a hand on her at all times as she bends down and undoes the shackles; Jemma is grateful for the contact, the reminder that Bobbi is here for her. Bobbi stands, helping Jemma up and walking her towards the blanket and pillows that are sitting unobtrusively in the corner. Jemma is grateful for the assistance, because she is already _very_ sore, her legs wobbly as she tries to walk.

Bobbi sits her down, sitting next to her and taking Jemma into her arms. Jemma feels completely spent, totally gone; she curls up against Bobbi, wrapping an arm around her waist. It feels nice, Bobbi holding her, keeping her warm and safe. She feels like she could drift off just like that, secure in Bobbi's arms, knowing Bobbi has her.

Bobbi kisses her hair, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Was that what you wanted?" she asks.

"Oh, yes," Jemma sighs. She turns, looking up at Bobbi. "Did you like it?"

"I had a good time," Bobbi says, smiling at her. Bobbi has not asked Jemma for anything at all, has done nothing but focus on Jemma's needs, but Jemma recognizes the face of a woman who is still desperately turned on.

"Let me," Jemma says, reaching down and unbuckling the harness.

"Hey, don't worry about me," Bobbi says, stroking her hair. "Just-"

Bobbi makes a surprised noise when Jemma pushes her down and climbs on top of her, spreading Bobbi's legs open. Bobbi groans as Jemma licks her, flicking her tongue against Bobbi's clit as she slides two fingers inside of her, rocking them in and out. Bobbi certainly needed it; it's no time at all before she has her hand in Jemma's hair, holding Jemma to her as she comes, shouting out Jemma's name.

"Thank you," Bobbi says breathlessly, as Jemma lies down beside her, laying her head on Bobbi's shoulder. Bobbi pulls her close, picking up the blanket and draping it over the two of them.

"I don't know if I can walk out of here," Jemma says.

Bobbi runs her fingers through Jemma's hair. "What's wrong?" she asks, sounding concerned.

"No, I meant physically," Jemma replies. "I haven't been this sore in a long time, from anything."

Bobbi laughs. "That was kind of the idea."

"That wasn't a complaint," Jemma says. "More of an observation."

"Well," Bobbi says, kissing her forehead, "you just get comfortable and don't worry about it. I've got you."

"I know," Jemma says, cuddling closer and tucking her head under Bobbi's chin. There's nothing she's more sure of than that.


End file.
